


Regressing

by ScribblingSquid



Category: Batman - Fandom, DCU, The Joker - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-14
Updated: 2012-12-14
Packaged: 2017-11-21 02:30:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScribblingSquid/pseuds/ScribblingSquid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written from the Joker's perspective, looking at his relationship with Batman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Regressing

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know if you have an interest in me writing about other Batman villains or looking at the Joker some more. Love the Batman villains. <3

_I recall being frightened of clowns as a child. What deception was there under those bright, garish clothes? What sorrows…what madness had been concealed beneath carefully painted smiles? Maybe they did it to hide from themselves. Only, it doesn’t work. I know it doesn’t, not yet. Perhaps I just need more practice._ (Yeah. They’ll eat that up.)

        Here I am, back in Arkham. They always ask me amusing questions when I visit. Things like: “What was the catalyst in your development of anti-social behaviors? What prompts these behaviors? The best one, though: Explain your need to create chaos. It’s like trying to answer those dippy test questions you got in school all over again. I mean, not even The Riddler would be able to figure out what this malarkey means.

        They love to analyze me, never realizing I’m analyzing them. You’d think they’d catch on. Nope, they’re daffier than that duck!  (I have a secret, you see! I don‘t really remember anything about before, so I make things up. It’s such fun!)

        _On certain days…I am more myself. A bit more like that poor, terrified man hiding from me. Deep down. That little man is scared of the clown. Hoo! I churn out poetry faster than some pestiferous punk with a rhyming dictionary!_

        Hmm…hypnotic dictionaries? It makes you lose your mind? Poisonous ink…sorry, I’m too clever for my own good. Back to my tragic tale.

        _On this sort of day, I tend to cry. You gasp?  I’m not choking you, am I? No laughing gas? Didn’t think so._ (Maybe later.) _Oh, so you say that’s more shocking than an excited electric eel, eh? Unfortunately, on these days, I actually feel something close to remorse. I never got a pony when I was a boy. A life full of disappointment._ (They expect that, the jokes. They’d probably keel over if I didn’t make with the funny.)

        I‘ve though about trying that, you know, for shock value. Sort of like getting a nose ring…but it makes you look bovine.(Sides of beef aren’t funny.)

        Anyways, it’s hard-it takes more discipline to not be funny than it would take for a dieter to turn down a dozen fresh chocolate chip cookies. Further more, it takes away from the persona I‘ve built up over the years. It’s better to knock ‘em dead with a smile on their face.

        _But, back to the point: tears don’t wash away my false face. I smile through my pains, the countless tears that never could wash away the blood on my hands._ (Aren’t I funny? I just kill myself sometimes. This stuff is better than  Macbeth!) _I remember things more clearly…even though I don’t want too._

_An unhappy childhood? Maybe…one with an abusive, alcoholic father. I was picked on by bullies at school because I was so painfully small and poor. What a miserable little thing I was. Hated everyone…wanted to get even._

_Or, I had everything anyone could have asked for. I was smart. I had filthy rich parents who always looked the other way. We certainly can’t forget handsome…heh. Oh, what a handsome face I had. Strong chin. Wavy hair. Bright blue eyes. I reeked charm like bad cologne._ (Don’t even get me started on the possibilities with cologne _._ ) _I was the star of the football team._

        _Except that wasn’t enough. I needed a different sort of thrill. Petty theft led to an accidental shooting. An accident, I swear! I didn’t mean to kill him! Sob! Chagrin! Et cetera! I liked it, though. Downward spiral._

        _Oh! I know, I must have been bad from the start. I enjoyed killing small, helpless animals. I beat up kids at school who didn’t laugh at my jokes. Broke things. Stole things. Mmm. Burned things down. That was the best, burning things. How glorious._

_Did I have a wife? I hope so, that would have been fun, having a wife. But, did she die? Did she run away? (_ Abandoned me, at any rate, I can always make up several more moving versions when the occasion calls for it.) _It was so wonderful until she was gone. I was so sad. Imagine! A sad clown! Ha! Wasn’t sad for long. Found something even better than a loving wife: a rival._ (No, an equal.)

        _Desperation? That’s it!_ (Was it? I think this one would win the prize.) _Needed money. Agreed to help a pair of thugs rob a chemical factory. It was going so well…when he showed up. The other two, they left me to my fate. Left me to him._ (He is just like me, only he channels his madness in a different sort of way): _he dresses like a giant bat! Even I‘m not that out there, right?_ (Wait, don’t get the story confused.)

This is the point when things get fuzzier than month-old pizza at the back of the fridge. _There was this huge vat of chemicals, and I ended up going for a swim in there somehow._ Did I fall in? Was I pushed? Did I jump in because it was my only avenue of escape? (It’s not terribly important. I can use any version I feel like.)

        I don’t remember;, but it doesn’t matter…the end result would have been the same. _My face! It became a face of deceivers and liars! I became what I was most afraid of._ What a handsome face I have. Verdant hair. A vermillion grin reminiscent of the Cheshire Cat. Chalk white skin. I know, that one’s not as good. There’s not any other options for white in my crayon box.)

         I’d have more options if they bought me the really big box for my therapeutic art sessions. You know, the one that comes with the handy crayon sharpener built right into the box. Well…I’d sharpen the heck out of those crayons, and the next time my shrink wants to be introduced to my inner child, I can take her out with a stick of colored wax and get out of here.

        He is like a father to me, and I am his favorite son. Wait…should that be the other way around? Who would need him if not for fine fellows like myself, after all? Either way, we need each other. He just doesn’t always realize it. He’s way to loopy to see logic, I’m afraid.

        He makes me better, makes me work harder, and in turn I complete him. (I complete him because he’s not playing with a full deck, you see.) We’re just a couple of parasites. Symbiosis at it’s worst! There’s an idea…laughing parasites. No, that’s just silly. (Perfect!)

        When I became myself, it was like coming back from the dead. (I wasn’t myself before, you see. Just a pitiful little man with no sense of humor.) I had purpose…to give him purpose. Yes, the gift I gave to my brother-in-arms was purpose. 

        He was a sad little boy before. Grew up to be even battier than me! Right? Never mind, doesn’t matter. I’m not my brother’s keeper. He tries, though, to keep me from fulfilling my purpose. (Something to do with moral fiber, I think.) Doesn’t he understand that without me he would be _nothing_?

        Heh. Like…like sleep! Sleep is only ever a (comic) relief or torture. That’s what I am. Fun until the nightmares start. He’s not even fun unless I get him all riled up. What might have been? What could be worse? (I never answer these questions for them, just for myself.) Well, what might have been: we could have stayed normal. _Average. Sane._

        That wouldn’t be any fun at all. What could possibly be worse? If one lost the other, that’s what. What then? A yo-yo without a string. A clown without a smile. A bat without wings. The end of both of us.

       

        Sorry, I nearly rambled ‘til the cows came home; let’s get back to the things I tell them, namely anything but the truth. You’re gasping again. You’re quite sure I’m not strangling you? (I’d sure like to.)

        Oh. I forgot about the straitjacket; it‘s to the point where it‘s like a cozy holiday sweater lovingly knitted by my nutty Aunt Ethel…if I had an Aunt Ethel. Anyways, that was the actual, genuine truth. (Sucker.)

        _Life’s just a joke. It’s all a game, see. I love games. I play games with my friend all the time. My friend’s real clever, the best friend ever! I’m always so happy when my friend comes to play!_ (That one’s a tad weak. Oh well, it makes me look loony, which is the point.)

_But my friend is always so grim. Look at me, carefree and as jolly as…as…me! No one is happier than me! Right? Giddier than a seasick octopus!_ (Is that even possible?)The game is to get him to smile…to make him lose it…for him to become like me. For him, it’s to make me frown, to make me normal, to stop me from doing what I do best. So far, this game always ends in a tie.

_Drat, here come the waterworks again. Like a leaky boat. Someone ought to fix me. He tries to fix me. Doesn’t work. Never works. I wish…I wish he could_. (Just kidding! I think.) _It could never, ever work. How does a leak fix a leak? It doesn’t, just keeps dripping…drops of blood._ (Hmm…I like blood.) _Oh! I hate myself! I want to change!_ (The parole board loves that line. It takes the intellectual prowess of dryer lint to get out of here.) I like pain, too. So much fun, causing pain.

        See, I think he likes pain, too. Especially when he’s inflicting it on me. It makes him feel better. He has so much pain, the only way he can cope is if he gives some of it to me. I can take it, I can only get more cracked, after all. Well, what goes around comes around. Cat and mouse. Bat and…rat? Nah, rats are boring. Well, getting back to the topic at hand, I like pain. Not my own, though. Yuck! That’s like rancid cotton candy at a cheap circus. No one likes rancid cotton candy. Or raisins.

        I think everyone likes pudding, though. Rice pudding. Without raisins. Anyone who doesn’t like pudding must be…insane! Pudding…oh the possibilities with pudding! Let’s not forget raisins. Raisin grenades means explosive pudding! Ah…agents of anarchy get to be so flexible. (Not to mention creative and completely bonkers. I never tell them this stuff, that would mean being _honest_ , and I‘m not exactly Pinocchio.)

        “What? What do you want? Oh…a visitor for little old me? How jolly.” By the tugging at my gums, something batty this way comes! Oh, I‘m too much! He looks more solemn than an upside down clown! I wonder why? Hmm…was I naughty again? (Of course I was!) Now I suppose I‘ll be interrogated again. Ho hum. This little routine got old a long time ago. We really need a new act. “Batman! I just love the new tights. Say, do you like pudding?”


End file.
